


it was a yellow umbrella spring

by ikeracity



Series: colors [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Reconciliation, Sequel, just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after Charles left for Oxford, Erik discovers that Charles is coming back to New York. </p><p>Second chances are wonderful things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it was a yellow umbrella spring

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [It was a yellow umbrealla spring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036862) by [Glacier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glacier/pseuds/Glacier)



> There will (likely) be another chapter to this. Thank you to everyone who showed interest in a sequel :D
> 
> ETA: I've decided this is a standalone fic and future parts of this series will be posted separately. I still love this verse so hopefully I'll sit down and figure out more for it....at some point.

THREE YEARS LATER

 

It was cold for April, still nippy enough for gloves and scarves. The rain was incessant; the entire city had been flooded for nearly a week under a torrential downpour that ran over curbs and overflowed from the gutters. It was miserable trying to get anywhere, but Erik had class every day and had no choice but to go out, as much as he wished he could just bury himself under blankets in his apartment and sleep until noon.

This Monday, the dreary rain was worse than ever. He couldn’t find a parking spot close to the building, so he had to sprint from the back of the parking lot all the way to the Law School, and by the time he reached the doors, the bottom half of his jeans was sopping wet from wading through the puddles that littered both the street and the sidewalk. Shaking water from his umbrella, he folded it and then pushed into the building, scrubbing some dampness out of his hair.

He picked up one of the complimentary copies of the New York Times from the lobby and flipped it open as he walked to class. As always, he scanned the headlines, then skipped to the end. Just before the editorials began, there was a section titled “Mutant Talk.” This section had only appeared in the last couple of years, but it was already wildly popular, the go-to pages for advice on mutant matters and smart, balanced political talk. At first, it had only contained a few columns penned by one author. But over time, more and more mutant contributors had added their input, and now it was a hotbed for the best political discussions in almost any news media.

Erik always looked over all the articles on the page, but he usually lingered on only one: the one authored by Professor X, the original writer of the section, the anonymous voice that was constantly being lauded by integrationists and derided by resolute separatists. Erik often wondered just what Charles had proposed to the New York Times to get them to start a section focused solely on mutant issues in a traditionally human-based paper. He must have made a very good case for the paper to have risked losing separatist readers. But that wasn’t particularly surprising. Charles had always made good cases. Erik remembered that very clearly. 

This week featured one of Charles’ lighter columns, a Q&A featuring questions from readers across the country. Half the inquiries were serious, focusing on human-mutant tensions or asking for advice about local mutant problems. The other half were more aimed at Charles rather than at mutant politics. Marlene from Nashville, TN, asked how old Professor X was, to which Charles had replied, “Old enough to know not to disclose my age to the public.” Dominic from Delaware City wrote asking if Professor X would ever reveal himself. He’d received the ambiguous answer of “In time, I might decide to reveal my identity to the public. For now, I’ll remain your friendly columnist Professor X.”

Erik’s eye caught on the question at the bottom of the page: “Hi, Professor X. I was wondering if you could help me out with a personal problem. I’m in love with a human girl and she loves me, too, but her family is strictly separatist. They’d throw her out if they knew we were dating. I don’t want to have to hide our relationship forever, but we’re both afraid of telling our friends the truth because it might get back to her parents. What should I do?”

Charles had written in reply “Dear Mark, I’m definitely not the right person to ask about love. I haven’t had much success with it myself. But it seems to me that if you love her and she loves you, then you shouldn’t care one whit about what her family thinks. Your happiness hinges on yourself. That was something I learned in my university years, the hard way. If you love her, then be bold. Don’t be afraid. You shouldn’t have to hide, and anyone who makes you feel as if you do isn’t a healthy influence. I wish you all the luck in the world. Professor X.”

 _Something he had learned from his university years._ He made it sound like a lifetime ago, but Erik could remember it like it had been yesterday. He still remembered what Charles’ lips had tasted like outside that IHOP, and the way Charles’ eyes had warmed when he smiled. He wondered if he’d remember it all so vividly for the rest of his life, every kiss and touch burned into his memory like a brand. At least thinking back on that semester no longer felt like a stabbing, raw pain in his chest, like someone had driven a hook into his heart and twisted. Instead, it was a dull, old ache that only flared up when he thought too hard about what had happened. In those days after Charles had left, he’d thought he would never move on. But he had eventually, somehow, one day at a time. Sometimes it felt like he was still taking everything one day at a time.

Erik climbed the last flight of stairs to the lecture hall and tucked the newspaper under his arm as he reached for the door. Then he froze.

There were always flyers posted to the doors and bulletins of lecture halls and classrooms, advertising everything from personalized campus t-shirts to weekly Zumba classes. But today, there was one poster that stood out starkly from all the rest by virtue of the name printed underneath a bold title that Erik barely even saw. His attention was riveted to the subtitle, spelling out a name he had only seen in his memories for the last three years.

GUEST LECTURER: CHARLES XAVIER, PH.D.

For a long few seconds, he could only stare at that line, his eyes tracing Charles’ name over and over again. His heart hammered against his chest. Charles Xavier. Charles _._ Blue-eyed, red-lipped, white-teethed, brown-haired, brilliant, eager, friendly _Charles_.

It took an eternity before he came to his senses enough to wonder what Charles’ name was doing on the door of the lecture hall of Erik’s school, of all places. Trying to shake away the shock, he forced his eyes higher to take in the title of the poster. “AN INTEGRATED SOCIETY,” it read. “What does it mean and what can we do to achieve it?” It was a discussion scheduled in this hall for the following Tuesday at four in the afternoon, to be led by special guest lecturers that the university had invited to take part.

The meaning behind this escaped Erik for a long minute. Then the realization slammed into him with all the force of a sledgehammer, knocking the breath from him and setting his pulse racing probably twice as fast as it was ever meant to go. Charles was going to be here. _Here_ , within reach, close enough to speak to, close enough to touch.

Terror and excitement shot through him at the thought, like a lightning bolt fired so powerfully that he felt it shake through to him to his bones. For all that he had buried his feelings away in the very back corners of his mind, he had never really let go of that faint bit of hope that something would happen, _something_ would make it right again between him and Charles. Some unconscious part of him had always expected to see Charles again, had refused to accept that a semester was all they would ever have. And now here it was: the opportunity that he had been waiting for, even if he hadn’t known it. The second chance.

He could hear his professor beginning to start the class. It took a tremendous effort to tear his eyes away from the poster, away from Charles’ name. He paused long enough to jot down the information for the lecture before slipping into the hall and settling into one of the empty seats in the back, his heart still pounding heavily against his ribs.

Charles was coming. Charles would be here in less than a week.

He tried not to get ahead of himself. There were no guarantees that Charles would even consent to speak to him privately, or that Charles would linger long enough for Erik to catch him outside of the lecture. And even if they did speak, what would they say? There was a finality to the way they had left things three years ago. It had been the end, and both of them had known it. Charles probably wasn’t even looking for a relationship. He was twenty-four now, finished with Oxford, embarking on some promising career. He didn’t need the distraction of a lover. Or maybe he already had a boyfriend, someone who had known how to treat him right from the start, someone who had never hurt him. Erik’s gut twisted unpleasantly at the idea. It was amazing, really, how even now, he still felt jealousy this strong for a boy he hadn’t seen or spoken to in three years. The heart was funny like that, he thought. Maybe the brain could forget, but the heart never would.

He knew he couldn’t go into this with expectations. The disappointment if this ended badly would crush him if he did. But the hope was there. It was faint and tenuous and it would not fade.

 

 

*        *        *

 

 

He was out of bed on Tuesday morning at five a.m. Sleep had eluded him all night, and after a few hours of restless tossing and turning, he finally decided to get up and take a run to calm his nerves. He got dressed, laced up his shoes, and grabbed his keys, hoping to run off some of this jittery energy. The only problem was, it was drizzling, a fact he only realized once he reached the lobby of his building and saw the light pitter-patter outside. So he returned to his apartment, kicked his shoes back off, and flopped face-first into bed. His skin felt electrified with nervous tension. Less than twelve hours until he would see Charles. Three years apart and now it had come to this.

He got up again and took a long shower that did nothing to settle his nerves. Once he toweled off his hair, he stopped in front of the mirror and took a long, hard look at himself. Had he changed in the three years since Charles had last seen him? He wasn’t sure. His haircut was the same, he hadn’t gained or lost any weight, and he still kept himself clean-shaven for the most part. Maybe he had darker rings underneath his eyes now, but that was only to be expected; studying law was punishing on sleep schedules, and he would have been shocked if he didn’t look anything less than exhausted on a regular basis. Outwardly, he looked mostly unchanged. But he was different now. He wasn’t the boy from three years ago, the one who had skipped in and out of beds without pause, the one who had taken a bet he hadn’t fully considered. Would Charles see that?

With a sigh, he pulled out his razor and shaved quickly, guiding the metal blade along his skin with his powers for greater precision. Once he’d washed the shaving cream from his face, he went to his closet and, instead of snatching out the closest garments as usual, paused to consider his choices carefully. He usually didn’t put much thought into his appearance; all his clothes tended to match anyway, no matter what he grabbed. But today, he agonized for a good ten minutes, trying to decide what he looked best in. A t-shirt and jeans was too informal. He wanted to look good. But he figured a suit and tie would be too much. He dug through everything twice and finally decided on the snug-fitting black turtleneck and tan slacks from the back of his closet. Charles would like it, he thought as he pulled the shirt on over his head. He still remembered how every once in a while, Charles’ eyes would drift down from his torso to his waist, his gaze appreciative. The turtleneck did a good job of showing off his upper body, if nothing else. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge in a little vanity.

When he stepped over to study himself in the bathroom mirror, he still wasn’t quite satisfied but it would have to do. He couldn’t think of anything else to wear. 

By the time he had finished getting ready, it was still only seven, two hours before his first class. So he made himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen and then carried it over to the living room, switching on the TV with a wave of his hand. He spent an idle hour watching the news and looking over his outline for an essay he had due by next Monday. The assignment had been to investigate the issues featured in _Barker v. South Dakota,_ a Supreme Court case in 2003 that had centered on the mandatory use of suppressants by mutants deemed “dangerous” by the state. There had been tons of reading material on it, and Erik had plowed through most of it last week, remembering all the while the debate over suppressants he and Charles had had that first night in Charles’ apartment. He still didn’t agree with Charles on some things, but he couldn’t deny that knowing Charles had moderated his views. It had taught him about the possibility of compromise and about how to productively argue a controversial subject matter. It had taught him how to listen, and he thought sometimes that that was the most important thing he learned in their semester together.

It was impossible to concentrate, so after a fruitless hour of halfheartedly glancing over his notes, he put the papers away and headed out. It was drizzling more insistently outside now, and Erik hovered an umbrella over his head by its thin metal spokes as he made a dash for his car. Once the door was shut behind him, he simply sat there for a very long moment, watching the rain patter off the windshield. Charles. He felt almost queasy at the thought of seeing him again. What the hell would he _say?_ His mind whirred uselessly for several minutes on end until finally he decided he would figure it out when the time came. Surely when he saw Charles again, he would know what needed to be said, whether it be apologies or congratulations or anything else. If nothing came to mind even then…well. Then he’d be fucked, he supposed.

The day passed in a blur. He walked out of History of Mutant Legislature without having absorbed a word and then headed to Advanced Rhetoric, where he lost a full hour and a half staring blankly at the wall. He didn’t remember going to lunch, but he must have gotten something because as the tiny hands on his watch ticked ever closer to four, he could feel his stomach threatening to heave the food right back up. He’d decided earlier to try to find Charles after his lecture, after he’d gauged Charles’ mood. There was no denying his curiosity—he wanted to know what Charles was like now, wanted to catalogue every change since he had left for Oxford. If nothing else, the lecture would give him some time to do that, and hopefully to gather his thoughts. 

To avoid loitering around the lecture hall and possibly running into Charles before he meant to, he holed up in the library across campus and wrote a sloppy introduction to his essay. Most of his attention was fixed on his watch as it ticked to 3:15, then 3:30, then 3:40. It would take ten minutes to walk to the lecture hall from the library, if he hurried. He didn’t want to be the first person to arrive, and he most definitely did not want to be the last. Either would draw attention, and that was the last thing he wanted right now.

He timed it so that he slipped in with the rest of the crowd at the doors just a couple of minutes before four. The lecture hall was already packed, so Erik didn’t look out of place heading for the very back row and settling into an open seat in the corner against the wall. From here, he had a good vantage point, and his face was, with any luck, obscured among the sea of others.

As a handful of last-minute arrivals trickled in, he slouched down in his chair and surveyed the room. There were more people here than he’d expected; every seat was filled and the overflow sat on the floor between the aisles. A good sign for integrationists? Erik wondered. In recent years, integrationists had gained steam while separatists had begun to lose adherents. The gap was slight but noticeable and growing. It was only a matter of time before it became mainstream policy, Erik thought. The idea didn’t rankle him nearly so much as it might have three years ago.

The chattering in the room hushed abruptly, and Erik sat up a bit straighter as the doors on the left side of the hall opened to admit Dr. Whitlark, professor of Constitutional Interpretation and moderator of the lecture, according to the flyer. Erik was barely aware of scooting to the edge of his seat, craning his head over the others to search through the group of newcomers that entered on Whitlark’s heels. First came two men Erik didn’t recognize, then a woman, and then, finally, there was Charles.

Erik’s breath lodged in his throat. Three years later, it felt surreal to be in the same room with Charles, to see him again after Erik had thought he’d made his peace with what had happened. Erik wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting, but seeing Charles now…he looked so very _good_. He’d cropped his hair shorter so that it no longer fell boyishly at his nape, but it was still long enough to curl over his ears. He was clean-shaven as ever and sharply dressed. Erik had never been a fan of the combination of formalwear on top and jeans on the bottom, but Charles had somehow made it work. He was sporting a light blue dress shirt, a darker blue suit jacket and tie, and a pair of jeans that fit snugly along the curve of his thighs and the slight swell of his backside. He looked deliciously put-together, and that made Erik itch to take him apart.

After a moment, he tore his gaze away to look up at Charles’ face. Charles was grinning at something Whitlark said as the guest lecturers took their places in the high chairs set up at the front of the room. As Whitlark stepped toward the microphone and began to quiet the murmuring of the crowd, Charles leaned over to speak to the man on his left. He still talked with his hands, Erik noted, watching those fingers draw patterns through the air. It was achingly familiar, and he had to force the old affection down somewhere deep and hidden, just in case Charles’ telepathy caught it. Even in a room this size with this many minds to muddle the ambience, Erik didn’t want to take any chances.

Erik was peripherally aware of Whitlark introducing the speakers and opening up the floor for the first man to give his lecture. They took a few moments to work out the kinks in a PowerPoint presentation, and as they waited, the woman by Charles’ side laid a hand on his arm to get his attention and then said something to him that made him laugh aloud. Erik stared, partly mesmerized all over again, mostly just jealous. He wanted to grab the silver bracelets around her wrist and yank her away from Charles, wanted to snarl at her to keep her hands _off_. But that was the instinct of three years ago, and he buried it with an effort. It wasn’t any use getting jealous now.

The first two men gave thirty-minute lectures on topics that Erik only half-listened to. They took questions after they spoke, to Erik’s impatience. He wanted to get to Charles’ lecture already. He had to resist the urge to shut down the projector and mess with the microphone in an attempt to move things along. It was juvenile and silly of him, and besides, just watching Charles sit and concentrate on what the speakers were saying was enough to keep Erik distracted. Charles had his leg curled around the chair leg, like he always used to do, and his brow furrowed in that familiar way as he focused on whatever was being said, and Erik couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

After an interminable hour, Whitlark finally announced, “Dr. Charles Xavier, most recently graduated from Oxford University and here to speak to us on social concerns of integrationist policies. Please give him a warm welcome.”

The crowd applauded politely, and Charles had to adjust the microphone down to fit his height, which Erik found impossibly endearing. “Hello,” Charles said, smiling as he looked out over the seats. “Thank you, Dr. Whitlark, and thank you all for having me here. I’m very excited to be speaking to you on this topic, as it’s a subject near and dear to my heart. As Dr. Whitlark said, I’ll be speaking on some of the social concerns many people have regarding the legal implementation of integrationist policies. Now if you’d turn your attention to the screen, I have a few visuals to help us get started on our way…”

Charles was as brilliant and spellbinding and charming as he had been three years ago, if not more so. Erik had forgotten how confidently Charles had always spoken; when he opened his mouth, it was sometimes difficult to remember that Charles was two years his junior. He sounded like an old professor now, pointing out things on the screen with the laser pointer, tossing little jokes into the crowd that had them chuckling along, citing a dozen statistics without consulting so much as a note card. He was a natural-born speaker, made for oration and for the stage. Erik wondered what Charles was doing now that he had an education anyone would envy. Would he go into public speaking? It suited him, Erik mused. It didn’t hurt that Charles was certainly opinionated on the happenings of the world; at least he’d never have any shortage of things to say.

Charles’ lecture ran a few minutes shorter than the others’, and at the end, he followed the pattern of the talk by opening up the floor for questions. He answered one on healthcare benefits for mutants versus humans, then another on human-mutant relationships.

Then, to Erik’s horror, the boy sitting next to him raised his hand. _Shit._ Charles’ gaze drifted over in their direction, and before Erik could so much as duck down in his seat, Charles’ eyes skipped right over the boy to Erik. For a heart-stopping moment, they simply stared at one another. Charles’ cheeks paled, and his eyes shot open wide. Even from across the room, Erik could see him stop breathing. He wondered if Charles’ pulse was thundering as loudly as Erik’s was, so deafening in his ears that he was shocked no one in the room turned to him to wonder if he were going into cardiac arrest.

“Dr. Xavier?” Whitlark prompted when Charles remained frozen.

“What?” Charles still hadn’t looked away. He took a sharp breath that echoed through the microphone and then made a visible effort to gather himself. “There was a—a question in the back there, I believe.”

“Yes,” said the boy next to Erik, raising his voice to be heard. “I was wondering what you thought about different mutations. Even with mutant equality, not all mutants are equal. Right now, everyone seems to be pushing to have the same rules to apply to everyone. Wouldn’t it be prudent to have more stringent regulations on more powerful mutants?”

Charles’ gaze lingered on Erik for another long moment before he finally wrenched it away. “String—stringent regulations, did you say?” His knuckles were clenched white around the podium. “No, Mr.…?” 

“Robinson,” the boy supplied.

“No, Mr. Robinson, I don’t believe in having unequal regulations in any sense. Such measures would be, ah—hypocritical. We don’t have stricter laws against taller men or, say, bodybuilders, do we?”

Robinson frowned. “No, but that’s not the same.”

“You’re right,” Charles agreed. Erik could see him forcibly shifting himself back into lecturer mode, pushing away extraneous details. “It’s not. But are we to discriminate against those born with natural talents that seem threatening to us? Are we to say that we’ll accept those mutants whose abilities we deem harmless but ostracize those with abilities that could be more dangerous? I know what it’s like to be a strong mutant, Mr. Robinson. As you might have read in today’s program, I’m a strong telepath myself. Would it be all right to require me to jump through more legal hoops and allow a greater incursion on my natural rights because I can read your mind? Would it be all right to require that of a mutant who can walk through walls? Or one who could—could—” He gave Erik a lightning-quick glance. “—manipulate metal?”

“Mutations like that could be a danger to society,” Robinson argued.

“Martial artists could be a danger to society,” Charles retorted. “Military personnel returned from active duty could be a danger to society. They aren’t under any undue legal restrictions, are they? Just because people have the potential to harm does not mean they routinely act on it. Should we discriminate against people who’ve done nothing? You’d walk a very fine line in persecuting people for what they _might_ do, Mr. Robinson.”

Robinson looked thoughtful as he sat back in his chair. After a moment, he said, “Thank you,” and Charles’ smile unfroze a bit. “Thank _you_ , for the question,” he said. “And I’m sorry, but it looks like I’m out of time. It was very nice speaking with you all, and thank you for listening.” He stepped away from the podium to a rousing round of applause, but instead of returning to his chair, he intercepted Whitlark on the man’s way to introduce the next lecturer and whispered something in his ear. Whitlark placed a hand on his elbow and nodded, looking faintly concerned. Charles quickly shook the hands of the other speakers and then headed straight for the doors. He didn’t look back.

Erik stared after him for a long, confused moment. Had Charles just…had he _run?_ Seen Erik and bolted for it, without even waiting to see what Erik wanted?

He was up and squeezing down the row past the other students before even he made the decision to leave. Ignoring the angry hisses he got for treading on more than a few toes, he leaped down the stairs of the lecture hall, right past a startled Whitlark, and through the doors. The hallway outside was empty both ways, and there were too many exits to cover. Erik tried to reach out to see if he could locate Charles by his watch, but there was nothing. As quickly as he had come, Charles was gone.

His gut clenched in hot frustration. Seeing Charles again and then losing him had to be the worst kind of torture. This hadn’t been so much of a second chance as a taunting glimpse into the past, and part of Erik wanted to storm home and forget about all of this, forget about any sort of foolhardy hope he might have been holding onto. A greater part of him categorically rejected the idea of letting this opportunity pass with so little fight. He’d already given Charles up once. If anyone was going to walk away this time, it wouldn’t be him.

Charles couldn’t have gotten far. It was pouring outside now, visibility cut down to almost nothing through the sheets of rain. Erik could probably catch up with him, if he hurried. He ran for his car, not even bothering with an umbrella. By the time he slammed his car door shut, he was soaked right through and dripping water all over the upholstery. Pausing only to wipe his eyes clear, he turned the ignition with a twist of his fingers and then pulled out onto the street.

He circled the Law School once, then again. It was slow going with the flooded streets, and Erik had to rely on his metal-sense to steer him around parked cars that could barely be seen through the rain. There was no one to be seen. His stomach sank. Could Charles have gotten a cab so quickly? Or perhaps he’d had his own car? Erik felt sick with disappointment. He’d thought of so many ways this could play out. He’d imagined awkwardness, tense conversations, even being coldly dismissed. But he hadn’t figured on this: missing Charles entirely, watching the chance slip right through his fingers like so much air.

Fuck. He turned the next corner and brought the car to a stop on the curb. Leaning his head against his arms on the steering wheel, he tried to breathe through the knot in his throat. Fuck. What had he been expecting? For Charles to be _glad_ to see him? Their separation had been mutual, but there was no denying that it had been painful and likely a time Charles wouldn’t want to revisit. Erik wanted to respect that, as desperately as he also wanted to…to…

Fucking _hell_. He didn’t even know what he wanted. He was being a fool. Leaping without looking again. Maybe he hadn’t changed as much in the last three years as he’d thought.

Taking a breath, he fought for calm again and shifted the car back into drive. No sense in dawdling around here, not when there wasn’t anything for him.

He’d pulled off the curb and driven for barely twenty feet when he caught sight of a shadow out of the corner of his eye and slammed on the brakes so abruptly the seatbelt cut hard across his chest. There, standing on the sidewalk underneath the spread of a bright yellow umbrella, was Charles. He was alone; the rest of the street was lined with parked cars but deserted of people, save for Erik. A fierce wind had started to blow the rain sideways so that Charles must have been getting drenched, the umbrella providing meager cover. What was he waiting for? A cab?

Erik considered. Charles didn’t want to speak to him; he couldn’t have made that clearer if he’d tried. But there was no way Erik would be leaving him on the side of street in a storm like this. They wouldn’t even have to talk. He’d just offer Charles a ride, drive him straight to his hotel or wherever he was staying, and then bid him goodbye. It would be simple. He could do that.

He took a steadying breath and steered the car over to the curb where Charles stood. Rolling down the window, he leaned over and shouted, “Charles!”

He felt a sharp slap of shock not his own before Charles curbed his telepathy harshly, leaving nothing for Erik to read but his face, framed in the car window. His expression was blurred and unreadable in the rain. When he didn’t step closer, Erik called out, “Come here! You’re getting soaked!”

“I’m fine,” Charles yelled back.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Erik flung the passenger door open with a careless swipe of his hand. “Get in!”

Charles hesitated for a long moment, squinting as rain blew into his eyes. His neatly-pressed appearance had been completely tossed by the weather. The umbrella looked to have been useless: Charles’ waterlogged jeans were hanging heavily on his hips, and his sodden dress shirt clung to every inch of his torso, revealing the lean curve of his chest and belly. His hair was dripping and matted to his forehead, still long enough to fall over into his eyes. Erik shoved away the impulse to simply yank Charles into the car by the metal in his belt buckle to get him out of the storm. He clenched his hands tightly around his steering wheel and forced himself to be patient.

Finally, Charles stepped off the curb toward the car and paused by the open door, struggling to close his umbrella against the whipping wind. Erik pulled the thing closed by its spokes, and Charles yelped as it wiggled out of his hands, through the door, and into the backseat.

“Get in!” Erik repeated, but still Charles hesitated.

“I’m going to get your car all wet,” he said, leaning one hand against the hood as he ducked his head in. “I’m—I’m dripping—”

“It’s just water,” Erik interrupted, “and the car’s already wet. Just get in already, will you?”

Charles leveled a skeptical look at him before climbing gingerly into the passenger seat. As his shoes dribbled puddles onto the plastic floor mat, he shifted in place, clearly trying to draw himself in to touch the least amount of space possible. After a moment of watching him, Erik shook his head. “Don’t worry about the car, it’s a mess anyway.” 

“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience—”

“I’m not dry either, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Erik told him, scrubbing a hand through his own damp hair. “It’s fine.” He realized abruptly that Charles was shivering, little tremors that were barely visible under his layers. It must’ve been fifty degrees or under outside, and Charles was soaked through. “You’re going to get sick standing out there in that,” Erik scolded, turning the heat on full. “You all right? Were you waiting for a cab?”

Charles regarded him with a strange look before nodding. “I don’t mind waiting, really.”

In reply, Erik pulled off the curb and cruised slowly toward the end of the street. “Where are you staying?”

“Erik, really—”

“I’m not letting you get out in this rain to wait for a cab,” Erik said firmly. “Not when I have a functioning car and nowhere to be.”

Even with his eyes fixed on the road, he could feel Charles’ gaze on him like a weight against his side. He was suddenly, stupidly self-conscious. He’d shaved this morning, hadn’t he? And he’d put on deodorant, made sure his shirt had no rips or stains, made sure his pants were as wrinkle-free as they could ever be. Had he combed his hair all right? Even if he had, it was a moot point now with the rain; he could feel his hair dripping against his forehead and down his nape into the collar of the turtleneck. Fuck. He must look like a wreck.

“I’m at the Hilton,” Charles said at last. “It’s not far, just a few blocks from here.”

“I know where it is,” Erik told him, speeding up now that they had a destination in mind. “I’ll just drop you off then.”

“Thank you.” After a moment, Charles held out his hands in front of the air vents to catch the blasts of warmth. “You know, you didn’t have to stop.”

“Yes, I did.” Erik hesitated. Charles wasn’t looking for anything from this. He was probably counting down the seconds as they drove, eager to escape the confines of the car. But Erik couldn’t stop himself from adding anyway, “I was looking for you. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Ah.” Charles sounded nervous. He hadn’t balked at speaking in front of an audience of nearly three hundred, but now, here, he was nervous. “I’m…um…” He took a long breath and wiped some water out of his eyes with his sleeve. “I didn’t expect to see you there.” 

“Yeah. I mean, _I_ expected to see you there. I saw the posters. That was why I came.” Erik frowned, then backtracked. “I wasn’t… _stalking_ you or anything. I’m a student. At the Law School, I mean. I’m studying there.”

His eyes widening, Charles turned to regard Erik more fully. “You’re a law student?”

Erik couldn’t tell if Charles sounded simply shocked or impressed. He nodded. “I’m specializing in mutant law. A lot of mutant litigation is sloppy, poor quality. I wanted to…” He shrugged. “I thought I could make a difference, I guess.”

 _Not as impressive as touring around guest lecturing on mutant issues,_ he wanted to add. _Or as glamorous and visible as writing columns in the New York Times._ But Charles said, “Erik, that’s…that’s wonderful.”

He smiled tentatively, and Erik’s heart skipped a beat. A smile. That had to mean something. Even if he knew Charles’ propensity for smiling at everything and everyone, he wanted it to mean something.

“Thanks,” he said. “What about you then?”

“Oh. I got my PhD from Oxford. Psychology. I’ve been giving presentations here and there, talking about maybe becoming a professor, but nothing stable yet. I’ve been keeping myself busy anyway.”

“With Professor X.”

Charles’ smile widened. “Yes, how did you know? Have you, ah…” The look in his eyes turned suddenly shy. “Do you ever read it?”

 _Only every week since it began._ Aloud, he hedged, “Yeah, here and there.”  

“That’s very nice to hear. What, um…so what do you think of it?”

“I think you could have a career in writing.”

Charles laughed softly. It was more restrained than the laugh Erik was used to, but the sound sent a thrill of warmth through him anyway. “That’s kind of you.”

“I’m being serious,” Erik told him. “You’re good at it. You’re good at speaking, too. Today, at the lecture, you were…” Magnificent? Mesmerizing? He didn’t want to sound overbearing, so he finished with, “Great.”

“Thanks.” Pleasure pinked Charles’ cheeks. “I’m glad you thought it was good. I spent a long while preparing for it. Trying to figure out what to say, you know?”

“You always know what to say,” Erik murmured. When he glanced over, their eyes caught, and he wondered if Charles was remembering their debates, how they had never run out of words. He missed the exhilarating challenge of arguing with Charles. It was now three years later, and he still hadn’t met anyone else who understood him nearly as well as Charles did.

They fell silent for the remainder of the drive. Erik was glad to find that the silence was more contemplative and comfortable than tense. Charles stared out the window at the rain coming down, and Erik watched him out of the corner of his eye, incapable of looking away. Charles was as gorgeous as he had ever been, and his side profile made Erik want to reach out and run his finger down the bridge of Charles’ nose to his lips, pressed firmly together as he studied the rain. In the pale lighting of the car, his freckles stood out more prominently than ever, sprinkling across his cheeks and down his neck. Now that Erik had the chance to observe him close-up, he could see that Charles looked a little worn, shadows under his eyes that Erik didn’t remember.

Too soon, the Hilton loomed into sight down the street. Erik slowed to a stop by the front doors and parked the car before turning to Charles, who looked steadily back at him. Erik held his gaze until he was distracted by a trickle of water running down Charles’ face, under his chin, and then down onto his throat, coming to a wobbly stop just under Charles’ Adam’s apple. Erik’s fingers itched to reach out and swipe the droplet away. Instead, he set his hands carefully on the steering wheel and said, “Well, here we are.”

Charles blinked. “Right. I’ll just—” He twisted to reach for his umbrella in the backseat, and Erik swallowed hard as Charles’ dress shirt came loose at the motion, revealing the barest sliver of the skin of his flat stomach. Erik remembered touching that skin, sliding his fingers down it to explore every inch in a quest to find the places that made Charles’ breath catch, the places that made him cry out in the best ways.

When Charles turned back, he was blushing slightly. _Shit_ , Erik thought. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean…” He gestured at his forehead. “I forgot you can listen in.” 

Charles shook his head. “No, it’s…it’s all right. I just wasn’t shielding as strongly as I should have been. Thank you for the ride.” He put his hand on the car door handle, then hesitated. “Do you want to maybe come up? Only because you’re—you’re wet, and you could dry off a little inside.”

Erik had never agreed to anything so quickly. Nodding, he pulled around to one of the parking spaces along the curb, cut the engine, and grabbed his phone and keys. Then they opened the doors and made a dash for the front doors of the hotel through the sheets of rain, Erik holding his jacket over his head and Charles sprinting beside him for all he was worth. They made it to the awning under the entrance and slowed once they were under it, both of them breathless and wet all over again. Erik glanced at Charles, who looked back at him panting, and then suddenly, helplessly, they were laughing.

“Look at you,” Charles gasped, his eyes bright with amusement. “You’re all—you’re soaked, God.”

“So are you,” Erik retorted, flicking wet hair out of his eyes. The run from the car had erased any drying Charles had managed on the ride over. His tie hung sodden and loose around his neck, making him look thoroughly, deliciously disheveled. Erik wanted to drag him by that tie into the nearest empty room and kiss him hard, lick the rain off his lips, his neck, everywhere he could reach.

No. _Stop._ He couldn’t be thinking like that, not with Charles so close. He made an effort to shove the idea away, but the look in Charles’ eyes stalled his breath in his chest. There was such naked _want_ in Charles’ face that Erik felt his throat constrict, heat shooting straight down his spine. Could it be that—did _Charles_ want—?

“Of course I want,” Charles whispered roughly, his eyes suddenly dark, the smile slipping from his face. “You look—you look—”

He cut off mid-sentence, seized Erik’s arm, and tugged him toward the elevators. Once they were inside one going up, Charles hit the button to shut the doors, then pressed for the seventh floor and waited until they began to move before turning back to Erik, his hand still on Erik’s elbow. They both looked down at the contact for a second before Charles released him, his cheeks heating. “I’m sorry. I just—To tell you the truth, I wanted to speak to you, too. I just…panicked a little earlier, after the lecture. But it’s a good thing you caught me. We should talk.”

“Talk.” Erik swallowed. “Yeah. We should.” He could see this going very badly, very fast. Or—

No. He wouldn’t let himself hope.

Charles leaned against the opposite side of the elevator, his bright yellow umbrella in one hand. For a long minute, neither of them spoke. Now it had come time to talk, and Erik had no idea what to say. At least Charles seemed equally at a loss, shifting uncomfortably on his feet as the silence stretched on. Where could they start? Erik didn’t even know exactly what there was to talk about.

It was a relief when the elevator dinged to signal their arrival. Charles hurried out, and Erik followed a few feet behind. They walked down the hall in silence, their shoes squelching as they moved. The sounds brought a hesitant smile to Charles’ face, and when he glanced furtively over, Erik smiled back. At least they could still do that, he thought. It couldn’t be too bad if they could still trade these small smiles, share one amusement or another.

Charles stopped in front of the room at the end of the hall and patted his pockets. He dug through his jeans and his suit jacket and came up empty. “Damn, I must’ve dropped my card somewhere. Probably somewhere in the rain—”

“Let me.” Erik stepped past him and wiggled the doorknob, turning the locking mechanism as he did. There was a click as the catch released, and Erik swung the door open and stepped aside to let Charles through first.

“You _are_ useful to have on hand,” Charles remarked with a grin.

“I aim to please,” Erik replied, shutting the door behind them and then following him into the room. It was a simple space with a single bed, a table in the corner, and a television sitting against the left wall next to a mini-refrigerator. A door on the right in the hallway led to a bathroom, where Erik could see Charles’ toothbrush perched on the edge of the sink. He wondered how long Charles had been here. He wondered how long Charles would stay.

Clearing the table of some napkins and old Styrofoam coffee cups, Charles said apologetically, “Sorry for the mess. I was proofreading the lecture until the last minute.” He gathered together the scattered papers on the bed and slid them into a folder before tossing it onto the tabletop. When he noticed Erik examining the room, he added, “Not quite what you expected, is it? I suppose after seeing my old flat, you might have expected me to get the penthouse suite.”

“No,” Erik said, his eyes lingering on a stack of papers sitting by the TV, scrawled over in Charles’ familiar handwriting. “This seems cozy.”

Charles laughed. “Yes, that’s a nice way of putting it.” He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and returned with two fluffy white towels. Handing one to Erik, he said, “Dry yourself off. Let’s try not to get the place too dirty; I’d hate for housekeeping to have a mess on their hands.”

“You,” Erik said as he toweled off his face and neck, “are as considerate as ever.”

Charles grinned. “I try.” He bent over to scrub at his hair, and when he straightened back up, Erik couldn’t help but laugh aloud. Charles shot him a puzzled look. “What?”

“Your…” Erik pointed to his own hair. When Charles continued to give him a blank look, he crossed over and, without thinking, reached up to smooth down some of Charles’ unruly locks. Charles stilled instantly at the contact but didn’t move away. Erik took that as tacit consent and combed his fingers through Charles’ hair, trying to tame it into something less of a tangled explosion. He tried not to think on the intimacy of the scene, of what it might mean that Charles was allowing him this close without protest. This was nothing.

 _Yet,_ he couldn’t help but hope. 

When Charles’ hair was more or less in order, Erik couldn’t bring himself to move away. He let his hand drift down past Charles’ ear to his jaw, where a bead of water ran down toward his chin. Erik brushed it away with his thumb, and Charles’ lips parted just slightly in an inaudible inhalation.

“Am I…” Charles cleared his throat. “Am I presentable now?”

“Not at all,” Erik whispered, because the truth was that Charles looked absolutely indecent, completely wet as he was, his shirt plastered to his body, his tie twisted loosely around his exposed neck, his eyelashes damp and his lips a stark red against his pale skin.

“Oh,” Charles said, his voice barely there.

Physical contact,Erik remembered a second too late. But before he could pull his hand away and apologize, Charles leaned into his touch and turned his head so that his lips brushed Erik’s palm. Erik froze, hardly daring to breathe. “Charles?”

Charles seemed to catch himself. Pulling away, he said embarrassedly, “Sorry. I just…” He tugged restlessly at his tie. “I missed you. That’s all.”

Erik swallowed hard. “You…missed me?”

“Well, of course I did,” Charles huffed, stepping back. He stripped off his suit jacket and went to hunt around in the closet for a hanger. “We were together for a…a while. Just because I left doesn’t mean I stopped caring for you instantly.” He stepped into the bathroom to hang up the jacket over the tub to let it drip and then returned to the closet to pick through a selection of dry clothes. His back to Erik, he said quietly, “It was harder to walk away than I thought it would be.”

It was impossible to sort through the knot of emotions that surged through him at that admission. Erik stared at the line of Charles’ back, trying to work out what to say. Finally, he said, “I missed you, too.”

Charles pulled out a clean t-shirt and a new pair of jeans from the closet and tossed them onto the bed. “I know that the way we left things three years ago was…abrupt,” he said slowly, fiddling with his shirt cuffs in lieu of meeting Erik’s eyes. “And I’m sorry for it. I was upset and I admit I acted rashly, leaving with so little notice like that. But I think I did the right thing.” He glanced over at Erik so briefly that all Erik saw was a flash of blue before Charles bent his head again. “I wasn’t ready for a relationship then, and it’s a good thing we…well. It was a good thing we ended it.”

Erik thought about his dignity and he thought about being honest, and the choice between the two was easy. He said truthfully, “It doesn’t feel like a good thing.”

Charles took a visible breath. “I think that—” he began, then stopped. Erik watched a conflict of emotions flit across his face for several seconds before his shoulders slumped a bit and he rubbed his eyes tiredly. “No,” he agreed, very quietly, “it doesn’t, does it?”

Erik took a step toward him. “I understand,” he offered after a moment. “I get why you left. I understand, and for what it’s worth, I’m…” He grimaced. “…glad. I wish you hadn’t, but I’m glad you did. I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Charles said, shaking his head. “I wish I hadn’t left either, but I think I needed to. For both of us.”

Erik nodded. “I know.” And he did know. They’d been young. Caught up in the heat of the moment. If Charles hadn’t been smart enough to walk away, they probably would have self-destructed. He’d broken Charles’ trust, and he’d just wrestled himself away from boys who had been his friends for much longer than he had known Charles. It had been important to take a step back and regain their footing before anything else. He was glad Charles had known that. He just wished it hadn’t been necessary.

“I’m glad you do,” Charles said, undoing the top button of his dress shirt. Erik thought for a wild moment that Charles might strip right there in front of him and he nearly swiveled around on his heels to avert his gaze, but Charles crossed his arms across his chest and just studied him for a long moment. His hair was still damp and curling over his forehead, and he was leaving a growing patch of water at his feet. They should get out of their clothes and into dry ones before they caught a cold, Erik thought. But he had nothing to change into here, and imagining Charles taking off his clothes was a thought he was trying very hard to avoid at the moment. So he said nothing as he patted the towel over his face again, just to give his hands something to do.

Finally, Charles said lightly, “You look as if you’ve been doing well for yourself. How are you? You’ll be—what? A third year?”

“Yeah. I’ve been doing all right.” Erik sat down on the edge of the low dresser, careful not to dislodge the microwave that rested on top of the dresser’s wide surface. “I’ve been working at a law firm, too. Eastham.”

“That’s great.” Charles grinned, full of genuine pleasure at Erik’s progress. Always so genuine. Erik was past wondering how he managed it; it was just part of Charles’ infinite charm. “Eastham’s wonderful with mutant equality. They do a lot of civil litigation, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“And they’ve got one of the highest ratios of mutant to human employees of any American corporation, if I remember correctly.” 

Erik nodded. “That’s right. Over a third of the employees are mutants, and that’s only those who have openly declared their status. There are probably more who have marked themselves down as either humans or preferred not to disclose that information.” That ratio had been part of what had made Erik choose Eastham. He hadn’t wanted to settle for one of those firms that paid plenty of lip service to mutant equality but showed clear bias for humans in mutant-human disputes. Eastham had a reputation for walking the line of justice without falling over into partiality on either side. It was the sort of objectivity that Erik respected.

Charles smiled. “That sounds great. You’ll make an excellent lawyer, you know. You know how to argue a point.”

“So do you,” Erik returned.

Charles laughed. “Oh, but the life of a lawyer isn’t for me, I’m afraid. I was actually thinking…” His smile turned a bit self-conscious. “I know it sounds like a long shot, but I was thinking of opening a school.”

Erik stared at him. “A school?”

“For mutants. God knows I had a rough time of it, growing up in a majority-human private school. And a lot of times, both public and private schools don’t have the sort of facilities to help mutants who are just manifesting or who haven’t got full control of their powers. It leads to a lot of property damage and improper disciplining that does more harm than good. The schools aren’t to blame, of course; nearly all of them are human-focused and don’t have the funds or direction to give mutant children the attention they need. So I thought it would be a good idea to open a mutant school.” Charles shrugged. “To give them proper training so they can grow to their full potentials.”

“That’s…” Erik said slowly.

Charles laughed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know. It sounds fantastical. It’s just a thought.”

“I was going to say it sounds incredible.”

At that, Charles looked at him, his smile widening hesitantly. “You think so?”

“Yeah. I think that would be incredible. You’d be a brilliant teacher.”

“Thank you.” The excitement in Charles’ eyes was visible from across the room. “I’m glad you think so. I haven’t told anybody yet. It was just an idea. I have an estate gathering dust in Westchester that could house dozens of students. Of course, I’d need to fix it up, seeing as how no one’s lived there in years, but it’ll be rewarding. I’ll feel like I’m doing something useful.”

An estate. Charles’ eye-popping wealth. Right. “At least money won’t be an object,” Erik remarked. “You’ve got all the things you need.”

Charles shook his head. “I still need teachers, a license, a way to find students…It’s going to be a lot of work. But it’s what I want to do.”

“That’s nice. Getting to do what you want, I mean.” 

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Charles agreed. After a moment, his smile slipped off. The look he gave Erik then was somber. “We should probably talk.”

There was no mistaking what he meant. Erik crossed his arms and tried not to fidget. “Okay. About…what?” They had to address the issues that still hung between them, Erik knew that. But he still had only a vague idea of what those issues were and even less of an idea of where to start. 

Charles took a breath. “About what we want. What we both want.” He started to sit down on the bedspread, apparently realized that he was still dripping, and stood back up.

“Maybe you should change first,” Erik offered, partly because he thought they’d both be more comfortable dry, partly because he wanted to stall, afraid of where this conversation was going.

Charles started. “Oh, where are my manners? You’re still wet. Here, let me—” He turned and, after a moment of deliberation, snagged a shirt off a hanger in his closet. Then he bent to dig through the open suitcase on the floor for a minute before tossing Erik an apologetic look over his shoulder. “Sorry, I don’t think any of my pants will fit you quite right.”

Erik shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just dry off—”

“And put your wet clothes back on? Come on, Erik. It’s no big sacrifice on my part.” Charles frowned down at his suitcase. “I do wish I had pants for you though.” 

“Just give me a pair,” Erik told him. “Anything’s good.”

“Fine.” Charles pulled out a pair of dark blue slacks and held both it and the t-shirt out to Erik. “You can change in the bathroom if you’d like. I’ll just dry off out here.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Erik took the proffered clothes and headed for the bathroom, shutting the door securely behind him. Kicking off his shoes, he peeled off his pants and wrestled out of the black turtleneck with some difficulty, wringing them both out over the tub before laying them on the counter. He thought about opening the door to ask Charles for a hanger, but he could still feel Charles’ belt buckle moving around, which meant he hadn’t gotten around to stripping out of his wet clothes yet. Erik tried not to let his mind dwell on it as he tugged off his damp boxers, wrung them out, and set them beside his shirt. Then he took the towel and wiped himself dry from head to toe.

It was only when he reached for the dry pants that he realized he didn’t have any underwear. For a long minute, he stood naked in front of the mirror, wondering if he should ask Charles to lend him a pair. But Charles had already given him a shirt and pants, and Erik felt awkward asking for more. Besides, he’d gone commando before. He could endure the discomfort until he got back to his apartment and into his own clothes. 

At least, that was what he thought until he got dressed. He hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that Charles was several inches shorter than he was and consequently owned smaller, shorter clothing. The t-shirt ended a little above his waist, which he could live with well enough, but the slacks felt indecently tight around his thighs and groin. When Erik looked in the mirror, he almost groaned. Well, there was no mistaking the fact that he had no underwear on, that was for sure. This was reminiscent of his teenage years, spent coasting from party to party in search of casual flings. He’d worn lots of leather then, pants that had clung to him in all the right places. These slacks did the same—not exactly conducive to having a calm, thoughtful conversation.

He stared hard at his reflection in the mirror, then sighed. It was a moot point now. It wasn’t as if he could change back into his own clothes, which were still wet. He’d have to hope Charles would ignore it.

Running his hand through his hair to comb it down a bit, he focused just enough to locate Charles’ belt buckle in the other room. It was lying on the floor now, and Charles’ watch—God, it was still that same watch he’d had three years ago, only now Erik could feel out a little chip on the band, could feel the old mechanism grind by with a little more difficulty than it had before—was at rest somewhere by the bed. He assumed that meant that Charles had finished changing, so he braced himself against the sink, closed his eyes, and took a calming breath before opening the bathroom door and stepping out.

Charles was sitting on the bed checking his phone. The moment Erik appeared, he glanced up and froze, his eyes obviously snagged on Erik’s legs.

“Your, ah…” Erik glanced down. “Yeah, they’re a bit small.”

“I…see that.” An indecipherable spasm flashed across Charles’ face before he managed to school his expression and drag his eyes up to Erik’s. “Sorry again.”

Erik shook his head. “I should be thanking you.”

Charles cleared his throat and set his phone down before clasping his hands together between his knees. “All right. I think we should start with what happened three years ago.”

“You know I’m sorry about that,” Erik said quickly, even now feeling a sharp pang of shame. “What I felt for you was real.”

“It probably was,” Charles admitted. “And what I felt for you was real, too. I know you were sorry, but the point was, you didn’t tell me the truth, even after you stopped considering our relationship part of the bet. If you ever did stop, that is.”

“I did,” Erik said vehemently. “Don’t ever think I didn’t. And I’m sorry for hiding it from you. It was just…Honestly, once everything had happened and we were together, I forgot about the bet. You made me forget. It was real. And I didn’t want to ruin what we had. If I had told you…”

Charles knew what he meant. “You’re right, it probably wouldn’t have won you any points. I would’ve been upset with you either way. But it would’ve been better finding out through you than through your friend.”

Erik grimaced. He hadn’t spoken to Sebastian since, nor did he ever want to again. He doubted Sebastian wanted anything to do with him either, not after Erik had abandoned the Brotherhood and its ideals without so much as a by-your-leave. That bridge had been burned. “Don’t call him that. He’s not my friend.”

“Shaw then,” Charles amended. “He wasn’t exactly quiet about telling me. It was…humiliating.” He brushed the back of his hand roughly across his reddening cheeks. “God, look at me. I still feel embarrassed thinking about it now.”

Erik took a step toward him, then stopped again. He wanted to soothe away the flush burning across Charles’ face, but they weren’t close like that anymore. It was hard to remember that fact, hard to keep his distance at the sight of Charles distressed. “I will never stop being sorry for that. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Yes, well.” Charles waved his hands vaguely. “It happened. I’m not angry at you anymore. I’m not even particularly angry at Shaw. He did us a favor, I think. Gave us the chance to grow up when we both wouldn’t have managed it otherwise. In a strange way, I’m glad.” He took a very deep breath and then let it out in a slow exhale. “And now I think, if I’m reading you correctly, we still have something. I know what I want. But we can make our peace now and make a clean break, if that’s what you want. If all you wanted out of this was…I don’t know, closure or something.”

“No,” Erik said firmly. He hadn’t known just how strongly he still felt for Charles, but now, standing here barely five feet from him, the truth couldn’t be more obvious. Erik knew it would be impossible to let him walk away again.

A spark of hope leaped to life in Charles’ eyes. “Good. _Good_. Because we’ve both grown up a little, and I think that if we can clear the air, we’ve got a shot at a…a second chance, if you will.”

Erik’s heart skipped a couple of beats. “A second chance.”

Charles glanced down at his hands, his fingers tapping restlessly against each other. “I never stopped thinking about you, you know. Even when I was at Oxford. And there hasn’t been anyone for me since. Not seriously, at least. I…” He laughed softly. “God knows I tried to move on, but you’re…well, _you_ , and I’ve found that it’s pretty much impossible for anyone else to compare.” He met Erik’s eyes, nervous tension in every line of his body. “I know you still want me. I could hear it. But I don’t know if you still _feel_ anything for—”

“I love you,” Erik interrupted. Charles sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body stilling. “I still do,” Erik continued, holding Charles’ eyes steadily. “Three years hasn’t changed that.”

Charles was silent for a long moment. His gaze searched Erik’s, and Erik looked back. He had nothing to hide, and he was sure that Charles wouldn’t have to look far if he tried; everything Erik felt for him must have been apparent at a glance, must have been evident in every inch of his face and mind. He felt like he was bursting with it right then, bursting with hope and that old, irrepressible affection that had never really faded.

Finally, a slow smile began at the corners of Charles’ lips. “You do?”

“God,” Erik said, a bit breathless with the suspense, “I thought you were supposed to be a telepath or something.”

At that, Charles let out a bright, full laugh that sent a thrill of sharp joy through Erik. “Come here,” Charles said eagerly, getting half up off the bed. “Come here and let me—can I—?”

He didn’t even have to finish for Erik to know what he meant. “Yes,” Erik said, closing the distance between them in three rapid steps. “Yes, yes—”

Charles pulled him down by his wrist and put his hand against Erik’s face and—

 _Oh._ Charles sounded shocked.

The brush of his telepathy was startling. It was like someone had dipped a finger into the still waters of his mind and watched as the touch rippled outwards. _Oh?_ Erik managed, a little dazed.

 _Oh, I forgot how brilliant your mind was,_ Charles replied, his mental voice trembling slightly. Then it broke entirely. _I missed you. I missed you.God, Erik, you have no idea._

 _I think I have some,_ Erik thought roughly, lost in the eddies of Charles’ excitement, his pleasure. Dimly he was aware of climbing onto the bed next to Charles, pulling him closer and closer until they were pressed so close that the barest sliver of air couldn’t have passed between them. _Charles._

Charles laughed shakily into his collarbone. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I’d convinced myself I was okay with that. Then I got a request to come back to New York for this lecture, and I thought for sure that you’d never be here, I’d never run into you, and then you were _there_. God, when I saw you in the back of the lecture hall, I couldn’t even—you should’ve heard my heart then, I swear—”

Erik laughed, too, his fingers tangling in Charles’ still-damp hair, mussing it up all over again. “I was terrified. I thought you might ignore me or refuse to talk to me—”

Charles shook his head. “How could I? If you knew how much I’d missed you after—”

A wave of _sad-melancholy-lonely_ lit up his mind like a lightning bolt across a black sky, and Erik let out a tiny, pained gasp. “Sorry,” Charles murmured instantly, his fingers patting soothingly at Erik’s nape as his mind swept away the unhappiness. “I just…” He laughed helplessly. “I missed you. That’s all I can say.”

“I missed you, too.”

Somewhere in the confusing muddle of their mental contact, they’d fallen back into the bed, side by side. Erik’s gaze dropped to Charles’ lips, and before he could lean in, Charles did. The first touch was hesitant, the second more sure. Then Erik pushed his fingers through the tangle of hair at the back of Charles’ head and pulled him closer, inhaling his scent, remembering his taste all over again. His breath was shallow, rapid. He could feel Charles’ pulse racing just under his jaw where Erik had the fingers of his other hand pressed warmly against his skin. For a minute, they stilled against each other, lips still touching, just breathing.

Then whatever hesitancy was left between them dissipated like smoke in the open air, and they grabbed for each other, frantic, needy, three years of separation coming to a head. Charles whimpered as Erik licked his lips, then into his mouth, his hands flying up to bracket Erik’s face, his fingers pressed firmly against Erik’s cheeks as if he were afraid to let him go. Erik shifted closer, his leg pressing between Charles’, one hand falling to touch Charles’ jaw, then his neck. Every inch of his skin felt electrified, hypersensitive to Charles’ every touch. Erik didn’t know if it was Charles’ telepathy spilling over or if it was merely his own body reacting more powerfully because it had been so long since anyone had touched him like this. Charles’ fingers sent sharp bolts of heat through his entire body wherever they made contact, like glorious pinpoints of searing sunlight burning his skin. Erik panted heavily against his mouth, rutting his hips forward, unable to stop himself. His clothed groin rubbed up against Charles’ leg, and he groaned aloud at the friction, needing more, needing _more._

Then everything—stopped. The building pleasure fell away so abruptly that Erik froze, suddenly woozy. The lust, the desperate need was gone. He was half on top of Charles, still touching him, still pressed obscenely close, except now it was strangely awkward instead of arousing.

“Sorry,” Charles panted, clearly flustered. “I’m so sorry, I just—” He took a deep breath that pushed out against Erik’s chest. “Sorry, can we get up?”

His brow furrowed, Erik rolled to the side and let go. He was still mostly hard, the fact painfully obvious in the ill-fitting slacks. Trying to arrange himself to ease the pressure, he asked as evenly as he could manage, “Are you okay?”

Charles nodded and ran a slightly trembling hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he muttered, staring down at his shoes as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I just can’t. Not right now.”

Erik remembered suddenly, sickeningly, the last time they had slept in a bed together and how that had ended. “Oh,” he said, a bit faintly. Until now, he’d almost forgotten it. How the hell had he forgotten to apologize for one of the worst parts of what he had done that semester? “I’m sorry about that, Charles. About that night. It was your birthday and your—your first time, and I…” He swallowed hard. “I fucked it up. I’m sorry.” 

Charles didn’t speak for a long moment. Then he glanced hesitantly at Erik and said, “Yeah, that’s…that’s part of it. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to…to have sex without knowing exactly where we stand and what we’re hoping to get out of this. I mean, I know what _I_ want, and I think I know what you want, but nothing’s certain at this stage and I’ve got to be honest, it makes me more than a little nervous. I don’t think I can…you know…sleep with you if there aren’t any assurances that you won’t be gone tomorrow morning, or something horrible might happen like it did back then and—” He sighed heavily. “I’m not making much sense.”

“You’re making perfect sense,” Erik told him. “You want to take it slow.”

“Yes.” Relief filled Charles’ expression. “Yes, that’s it. I know that might not be what you want—”

“Charles,” Erik interrupted firmly, “what you want is what I want.”

“Oh, that’s…” Charles sounded bowled over. “…really?”

“Yes, really,” Erik huffed. “I just told you I loved you. You think that’s going to change just because you don’t want to sleep with me yet?”

“Well…”

“Well, it’s not,” Erik told him firmly. “So don’t worry about that.”

He reached over, ignoring the tight stretch of the slacks across his still-prominent erection, and grabbed Charles’ phone off the bedspread. When he hit the power button, the screen popped up a keypad, which he turned around and handed to Charles, who silently unlocked it and handed it back. Charles had changed phones, which wasn’t surprising; Erik would’ve expected someone with as much throwaway money as Charles obviously had to keep up to date with all technological advances, if not for improving functionality then for maintaining wealthy appearances. What _was_ surprising was what he found when he scrolled down the contact list: his name—ERIK L.—along with his old phone number. Three years. After three years and after what had happened, Charles had kept his number. Erik felt his heart lurch painfully.

He erased the old number and put in his new one. Then he sent himself a text so he could get Charles’ new number, too, before returning the phone to Charles. “So we can keep in touch,” he said.

Charles smiled. “Thanks.” He hesitated, then added, “We could get coffee sometime.”

Erik nodded. “Definitely.”

“Um…now?” Charles fidgeted. Erik had rarely seen him so nervous. “Only if you want, of course. I’m free for the afternoon.”

As much as he was loath to turn down the offer, Erik said regretfully, “I think I’ll head home for today. I need to change into something more comfortable and take care of…well.” He gestured vaguely to his erection, his cheeks heating.

Charles flushed. “Oh. Right. If you want, I could help.” When Erik’s eyes widened, Charles backtracked rapidly, “Not—not like _that_ , sorry, I meant—I mean, I can—”

He pointed to his head, blushing scarlet. He was so obviously flustered that Erik almost laughed. Calm, self-composed, intelligent Charles, flailing for words. It was the most endearing thing he had ever seen.

“Uh…sure,” he said, wondering what Charles meant. A moment later, he felt cool mental fingers sift through his brain, and then the pressure in his pants eased. When he glanced down, he was flaccid again. “How…?”

“I’m good with brains,” Charles says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “My telepathy gives me control over many reactions that are normally involuntarily in most human bodies. I accessed some hormone centers in your brain and redirected some blood flow. It’s delicate work, but I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

It didn’t take much thought to work out that Charles could push it the other way around as well. The idea that Charles could make him hard with just a _thought_ nearly had his cock twitching in interest again, but he managed to bury the thought before it could get very far. A concept to think on later, in the safety of his own bedroom.

“Thanks,” he said, standing from the bed. “Um. You have my number. You’ll…?”

“I’ll give you a call,” Charles promised. “Or text you, if that’s all right.”

Erik nodded. “That’s fine.”

Charles stood, too, and walked him to the door. Erik collected his damp clothes from the bathroom before slipping on his still-wet shoes and opening the door with a wave of his hand. He stepped out into the hallway, but before he could take another step, Charles snagged his arm and said, “Wait a second,” and ducked back into the room. A moment later, he returned with the bright yellow umbrella, which he pressed into Erik’s hand.

Erik raised an eyebrow.

“It’ll keep you at least a little dry,” Charles explained. “And don’t ask about the color; it was Raven’s choice.”

Erik grinned. “Thanks.”

“Drive safely,” Charles called after him as he started down the hall.

Erik made it all of ten feet away before retracing his steps and ducking his head down for a kiss, quickly and firmly. He’d take a goodnight kiss, if nothing else. When he pulled back, the tips of Charles’ ears were pink, and he was smiling, flushed with pleasure.

“I’ll see you later,” Erik said, pushing his hand through Charles’ hair.

“Yes,” Charles replied, patting a hand against Erik’s chest affectionately. His mind blended with Erik’s for a brief moment, showing him a rapid burst of _satisfaction-excitement-contentment_ before fading away. “I’ll see you.”

After another minute, Erik reluctantly let him go and headed down the hallway. When he got the elevator at the end of the hall, Charles was still standing in the doorway, watching him go. Erik gave him a wave, which Charles returned with a smile, and then the doors shut and Charles disappeared from view.

He leaned back against the elevator wall and breathed for a long moment. He felt… _lighthearted_ , in a way he hadn’t been for a very long time. Charles had come back. Charles had wanted _him_ back, and they had—God, they’d made up, hadn’t they? They’d talked, and the necessary apologies had gone out, and they’d worked out something of a plan to move on, something Erik had resisted doing these last three years, but now—now, if they were moving on _together_ , then he would throw himself into it, strive for it as gladly as anything.

Together. Funny how it changed everything, how it made all the difference.

He was smiling when he reached the ground floor. There was a message on his phone from an unknown number, the message he had sent himself from Charles’ phone. He saved the number carefully under CHARLES XAVIER, put it on speed-dial 2, and then wrapped the phone in his almost-dry turtleneck, trying to keep it as safe as possible. Then he steeled himself, opened the bright yellow umbrella, and ducked out into the rain.

 

 

*        *        *

 

 

They went out for coffee Thursday morning. Erik showed up first, meticulously dressed in a neat, long-sleeved black shirt that hung just loose enough on his frame to leave some things to the imagination and a pair of well-fitted blue jeans. He took a window seat, ordered a café latte, and debated on whether or not to order for Charles, too. But Charles’ tastes might have changed in the last few years, and Erik didn’t want to presume anything, not this early in their restarted acquaintanceship. So he took his drink, settled in the high-backed chair, and waited tensely, his eyes flying up nervously every time the bell above the front door jingled.

They’d agreed to meet at 9:15. Erik watched the clock on the wall tick to 9:15, then 9:20, then 9:30. Maybe he was pushing it, he thought. Sometimes he manipulated metal without realizing it, and his impatience might be urging on the metal hands of the clock faster than they were supposed to go. But he checked his phone and felt his heart sink when he saw that the display read 9:34. No text or call from Charles either. The latte felt cold in his hand. He tried desperately not to be disappointed.

Maybe he should call. Maybe Charles had forgotten. He was probably busy, what with his lecturing, the Professor X column, his plans for a school. Charles could be easily distracted, and when he truly buried himself in whatever he was working on, he could lose track of the time. That was probably what had happened, Erik told himself. Nothing more.

He had his finger hovering over speed-dial 2 when Charles’ familiar old watch appeared in the periphery of his awareness. His head snapping up, he honed in on its metal signature and there—Charles was walking down the street toward the coffee shop, his stride hurried. Erik tracked him as he crossed the street, leaped a puddle by the curb, and then opened the door.

A warm, delighted, apologetic wave brushed across Erik’s mind as the bell above the door jingled. Charles turned and found him instantly, a happy smile lighting up his face as he did.

“Hi,” he said as he came over. Taking the seat across from Erik, he laid his satchel in the spare chair next to him and folded his arms on the tabletop. “Sorry I’m late. I was, ah, held up.”

Erik glanced down at the splotches of color staining Charles’ shirt. For once, he looked messy and more than a little unkempt, dressed in a gray t-shirt that was fraying at the hems and discolored all over with what looked like paint. At Erik’s raised eyebrow, Charles’ smile turned sheepish, and he said, “I’m sorry for my appearance, too. I didn’t have time to run to the hotel and change, since I was already late. I didn’t want to keep you waiting much longer.”

“What were you doing?” Erik checked his watch without looking at it, feeling out the position of the hands. What could Charles have gotten up to before 9:40 in the morning?

“Helping Raven paint her new house,” Charles replied, his grin cheery. “She wrangled me into helping and it’s admittedly cathartic.”

“Raven.” Erik took a sip of his latte. “How is she?”

“She’s doing great. She’s graduating soon with a degree in art history. Got a house downtown that she’s sharing with Hank.” 

“Hank…”

“You met him once or twice,” Charles said. “He worked at the bookstore. Graduated from Duke, intrepid researcher…?”

The bookstore, that afternoon he had first asked about Charles. Erik remembered vaguely. “Glasses that slid down his nose? Nervous type?”

Charles laughed. “Yes, that’s him.”

Erik raised his eyebrows. “He’s Raven’s boyfriend?” He’d have been shocked if Hank had managed to attract the attention of any girl, let alone an outgoing, boisterous one like Raven.

Charles nodded. “Going on two years now. They moved in together last month. While I’m here, Raven’s making me help with the house renovations, though I’m not much help.” He shook his head with a rueful sigh. “I’m not very good fixing roofs and putting down floorboards, and neither is Hank. But it’s a family project, I suppose. And we’re having fun, so that has to count for something.”

Erik smiled, giving Charles another once-over. “You look good.”

Charles snorted. “I look like a mess.”

A good mess, one that Erik wanted to haul under the showerhead to clean off. Charles normally looked so academic, so professional, and Erik loved that look on him. But there was something undeniably attractive about Charles covered in paint smudges, his hair unruly, his eyes bright with the simple pleasure of physical work. He had a thin line of robin’s egg blue at the collar of his shirt, probably from scratching his neck absently with wet paint on his hand. Without really meaning to, Erik said, “If you need another hand, I wouldn’t mind helping out.”

Charles blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” It took only seconds to warm to the idea. “Watching you and that Hank kid bumbling around and making fools of yourselves? How could I resist?”

Charles laughed, shaking his head. “Of course. I don’t know why I was about to thank you for selflessly volunteering your time out of the goodness of your heart.”

“What can I say, I’m a selfless soul.”

“You’re no such thing,” Charles said fondly as he got up. “I’m going to go order a drink.”

Erik watched him cross over to the counter, flirt a little with the guy behind the counter, who looked flattered and on the verge of handing over his number, at least until Charles said something and nodded over to Erik, who glared helpfully back. The barista glanced away quickly, handed over Charles’ purchases, and bid him a good day before moving onto the next customer.

“You get jealous easily,” Charles told him as he sat back down, a cappuccino and a muffin in hand. But there was no reproach in his voice.

“You flirt with everybody,” Erik retorted, though he found that he wasn’t really annoyed. Not when Charles was giving him that warm, fond look, as if he knew something Erik didn’t.

“You’re overreacting,” Charles sniffed. “I’m being friendly, that’s all. You have no reason to be jealous. I’m…” He hesitated, fixing his eyes on the steam rising from his cup. Then, sounding faintly embarrassed, he finished, “I’m yours, nobody else’s.”

Erik’s breath hitched. Before he could say anything, Charles hunched his shoulders and muttered, “That was cheesy. I’m sorry. And maybe too soon, but I just—”

Erik grabbed his hand on the table and grinned, unable to hold back the swell of affection that overwhelmed him. “I love you.” The metal legs of the table trembled. He thought his chest was going to fill to bursting with everything he had ever felt for Charles, past and present. It was frighteningly heady, like being drunk except happier, and he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that Charles was sitting there across from him, saying things that made his heart go wild.

“You should…” Charles’ breath sounded short, and his eyes were wide. “Erik, God…if you could feel your mind right now, if you could know how beautiful it is…”

“Can’t you show me?” asked Erik, raising his eyebrows. Even now, he wasn’t sure exactly what Charles could do with his telepathy, but he figured nothing was off-limits until Charles said as much. 

“Actually.” Charles clasped his other hand on their intertwined ones. “I can. May I?”

Erik nodded. Grinning, Charles closed his eyes, and Erik felt the world shift in a sudden, sharp twist, like he was being drawn from his body. He panicked momentarily before Charles said, _Shh, trust me please. Just one moment,_ and wrapped a…a _warmth_ around Erik’s mind that was bright and comfortable and wonderful. Then he opened his eyes and _saw._

It was like stepping into a warm spill of sunlight on a chilly morning, or like plunging into a hot bath after a long, rough day. Everything was lit and warm, and there was a pulsing, heated _affection_ that underlaid every single thought that was impossible to hide and impossible to deny, and the strength of it took Erik’s breath away.

 _Is that you?_ he asked incredulously.

_No, Erik, that’s you._

He didn’t recognize himself. The breadth of love that he saw struck him dizzy with surprise. Even though he’d known he felt more strongly for Charles than he had for anybody before, he hadn’t expected _this_.  

 _I hadn’t expected it either_ , Charles replied, his lips curving into a smile that was accompanied by a wave of deep fondness. When Erik blinked, he was back in his own body, looking through his own eyes. But the warmth remained, nestled somewhere underneath his ribs where it radiated outward all the way to his toes.   

“When are you free?” Charles asked, picking at the muffin wrapper.

It took him a moment to realize Charles had spoken. “…what?”

Charles laughed. “Do I need to give you a moment?”

“No, I just…” Erik shook himself mentally and pictured his schedule. “My classes end at 1:45 tomorrow. I can come over afterwards.”

Charles beamed. “Perfect. Do you have lunch before that or can I whisk you away for some food after?”

Erik grinned. “I’m free for whisking.”

“Excellent. We can go somewhere local. You probably know the area better than I do.” Charles finished unwrapping the muffin and picked the top off in bite-sized bits, popping them into his mouth and chewing slowly. “We can go by Raven’s afterwards,” he said when he’d swallowed. “You’d probably want a change of clothes.” Then he paused, his brow furrowing as if he were remembering something. “You’ll probably want to be mentally prepared, too.”

Erik frowned. “What?”

“I probably should have warned you before accepting your help,” Charles said apologetically, “but Raven didn’t take kindly to our breakup. Understandably so.”

“Understandably,” Erik echoed, swallowing. Shit. He hadn’t even thought of the consequences of his actions beyond Charles. He and Raven had been working into a casual friendship, which he’d likely completely fucked up along with his relationship with Charles. Stupid to think an hour of honesty in Charles’ hotel room would fix everything.

He could almost feel Charles’ thoughts turn serious. “Look, Erik,” he said, pushing his half-eaten muffin to the side and folding his arms on the tabletop. “We came to an agreement on Tuesday that we both wanted to try this again but…you and I both know it won’t be as easy as picking up where we left off. And if you—if you’re not serious about this, maybe we shouldn’t try because I don’t think I could…” He sucked in a breath. “I couldn’t take it if we failed again.”

For a long few seconds, Erik only stared at him. Then he said, exasperated, “Charles, you read my _mind_. You showed me—You showed me what I felt for you, and you think I’m not _serious_. After seeing _that?”_

Charles shrugged helplessly. “You can’t blame me for being…” He shook his head, his cheeks tingeing a slight pink. “…insecure. You can’t blame me for that.”

No. After what Erik had done to him, he couldn’t.

“Don’t,” Charles said, his voice gentling. “You already apologized. I’ve forgiven you. You don’t have to feel so bad.”  

“I am never going to stop feeling guilty about that,” Erik said roughly. He reached across the table and laid his hand on Charles’. “But I’m in this for good. Your sister’s not going to scare me off.”

Charles laughed at that, a bit weakly. “Your confidence is inspiring, but you haven’t seen Raven in a towering rage yet.”

Erik winced. “That bad?”

“I’ll spare you the details, but she was seriously planning on torching your car before I stopped her.”

“That’s sparing me the details?”

“Oh, Raven can get _very_ imaginative when she has a mind to be.”  

“I suppose I should thank you for stopping her then,” Erik said dryly.   

“I was tempted to help her,” Charles said. Erik stiffened a bit, but Charles was grinning, his tone light. “But I decided they’d probably not let me leave the country if I were accused of arson.”

“Probably not,” Erik agreed. He leaned over to steal a piece of Charles’ muffin, quick enough that Charles couldn’t even swipe at him. “Speaking of, how was Oxford?”

“Great,” Charles answered, pulling his muffin closer to himself. “I loved it. Stayed for a while after I finished my doctorate to teach a little. I only came back about four months ago. Raven says my accent’s gotten thicker.”

Erik cocked his head, running Charles’ words through his head. “Maybe a little. Nothing unintelligible though.”

Charles laughed. “If and when that changes, I’ll submerge myself in American television for a solid week. Raven says I sound pompous.”

Amusement rippled through him. “Did she?”

“It was more along the lines of _‘you sound like you’re some snobby lord in one of those regency shows,’_ which means she’s been watching too much BBC again. She wants me to dress up as Mr. Darcy for Halloween.”

“Mm,” Erik hummed, trying to imagine Charles in period clothing. “I second that.”

“Oh, not you, too,” Charles groaned.

“Cravats,” Erik mused, teeth beginning to show in his smile. “Waistcoats. Breeches.”

He started to form a picture in his head of Charles in a perfectly-tailored coat with knee-high boots and a golden waistcoat that wrapped around his slim form, lean and elegant. Charles must have caught the image because he grinned and said, his voice pitched lower, “I wouldn’t look _that_ dashing. You’d look much better.”

“I don’t know,” Erik sniffed. “I’m not a big fan of sideburns.”

Charles looked at him for a moment, squinting. Then he laughed. “No, I can’t imagine you with sideburns. Not the serious type anyway.”

Erik pictured Charles with sideburns, then with a full-on beard, the type that stretched on, wizard-like, and both of them began to giggle, like schoolchildren in the back of the classroom. The couple at the table next to them shot them strange looks, which for some reason only made them snicker harder, and then Charles said breathlessly, “Let’s get out of here,” and Erik was only too glad to follow.

Outside, the sky was gray. “Rain again,” Charles said with a sigh, staring up. “I got enough of that in England.”

“My car’s right there,” Erik said, pointing. “I can drive you back to your hotel if you want.”

“I kind of wanted to take a walk,” Charles admitted. “That is, if you had the time.”  

“One second.”

Leaving Charles underneath the awning of the coffee shop, Erik darted over to his car, which was parked on the curb. He unlocked the doors and fished around in the backseat for the yellow umbrella. When he came up with it, he closed the door again and jogged back to Charles, who grinned when he saw what Erik had gone looking for.

“I don’t have class until 12:20,” Erik told him. “And we’ve got this—” He waved the umbrella. “—in case it starts to drizzle or anything.”

Charles looked up at him, his expression suddenly inscrutable. Erik held his gaze and tilted his head, a bit confused. “What?”

“Nothing,” Charles said after a pause, smiling. “I just…I love you, that’s all. I don’t think I ever said it, but I do.”

Erik huffed. “I know. You don’t have to say it.” But his heart pounded against his chest, rapid as hummingbird wings, and his next few words stuck in his throat. At a loss for words, he just held out his hand, and Charles took it, sliding his fingers in between Erik’s, filling all the cracks Erik didn’t think anyone else could.

As soon as they started off down the street, it started to sprinkle, just a thin mist that was more fog than rain. Erik flicked the umbrella open with his powers and held it over their heads, pulling Charles closer so that they were both under its shelter.

He said, “You know, this shade of yellow is atrocious.”

Charles began to laugh, helplessly. He buried his face into Erik’s shoulder and smiled, his mouth pressed right up against Erik’s arm. Erik imagined he could feel his breath even through his coat. “I know, I know. It’s awful. Just don’t look at it.”

“I’m not,” Erik said, and when Charles looked up, Erik bent his head and kissed him. 

He tasted, beautifully, of rain.


End file.
